Tribulation
by ShadowBallad
Summary: AU Parris, Herrick, Danforth, Cheever and Putnam are the real ones behind the trials. Rev. Hale suspects them, but upon voicing his thoughts, he is kidnapped.


Tribulation

Zel

Based on the movie adapted from Arthur Miller's play, _The Crucible_..

**Summary**: AU Parris, Putnam, Cheever, Herrick and Danforth are the real driving forces behind the girls' accusations during the Salem Witch Trials. Reverend Hale suspects them, but upon voicing his thoughts he is kidnapped and forced to undergo severe tribulation. **Drama/Angst PG-13**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters. The main plot belongs to Arthur Miller, but the story itself is my own. This is not meant to offend; just a little thing I whipped up while daydreaming in English. Note that Hale in this story is around 32 instead of 40. Kinda long, but hey! That's good, right?

Chapter One

Day of Reckoning

_Fall, 1692, Salem Village, Massachusetts, 3:00 a.m. Cheever, Paris, Herrick, Putnam and Danforth are gathered outside the dungeon, speaking with Elizabeth Proctor._

"Your husband is slated to hang at dawn, Goody Proctor," Danforth told the gaunt woman standing in chains before him. He regarded her coolly, but she remained silent. "Do you not understand? He will die come sunrise! Do you have no tenderness for him at all?"

Elizabeth gazed at the deputy governor with hollow eyes, but again said nothing.

Danforth threw up his hands in frustration. "Then you damn him to Hell! Do you understand!?"

Nothing.

With resignation Danforth motioned to Cheever and Herrick. "There be no profit in letting her speak with him. Her dry eyes condemn her soul; take her away." Reverend Samuel Parris watched this scene unfold with increasing nervousness, and quickly held out a hand to stop the two men.

"Can we not wait, Excellency?" he pleaded whiningly. "There is yet time..."

Danforth regarded the broken minister dispassionately. "I said—"

"Please," interrupted Elizabeth for the first time, "I—I would speak with John."

Parris turned grateful eyes to the woman, clasping his hands prayerfully in hope. "You will convince him to confess, Goody Proctor?" he asked earnestly.

"I promise nothing; I would speak with him now," Elizabeth repeated, dampening Parris's spirits somewhat.

"Perhaps my fate may yet be turned..." he muttered under his breath as Cheever and Herrick lead John Proctor from the dungeons. "My good name have suffered these three month..."

John went to Elizabeth, overwhelmed by seeing her for the first time in three months. "Elizabeth," he rasped; his voice was frail, as was his body, scarred by torture.

Without allowing John's wife to answer, Danforth stepped between the two prisoners and addressed John Proctor. "You sir, are condemned to hang with the sunrise. Will you confess your black sins before God, or die damned to Hell?"

Despite his malnourished condition, Proctor glared at the deputy governor with eyes of frigid ice and a fierce countenance. "I shall confess nothing, Mister; I am an innocent man, and so be the others you've hanged thus far!"

At hearing this, Danforth set his jaw firmly. "Then you will hang," he said flatly. He turned to motion Cheever and Herrick to take Proctor away. "And Rebecca Nurse and Martha Corey; they shall be executed alongside you."

"I must disagree, Excellency," said a quiet voice from the shadows below the gentle knoll. Danforth started at the suddenness at which the man had spoken, and vainly searched below for the voice's owner.

"Show yourself! Draw yourself up like a man and come into the light!" he commanded, squinting in the early morning darkness. A silhouette moved forward, revealing a face set with harsh resolution.

"Why, Mr. Hale! Why have you returned to Salem?" asked Putnam, not attempting to conceal his disgust with the reverend. Hale merely gave him a glare before striding up the knoll to stand before Danforth.

"These people shall not hang, Excellency. That I can promise you," he said solemnly, motioning to the Proctors and the two women just brought from prison. Rebecca Nurse was the first to speak after the reverend had made his rebellious declaration.

"Why, Mr. Hale...it is good to see you," she said nervously and not entirely truthfully. "What brings you back to Salem, sir?" Hale turned his gaze to the elderly woman, his visage noticeably softening.

"I come for your redemption," he replied with a hint of guilt. "No, no; do not deny it!" he exclaimed softly as Rebecca protested. "It were my hand started this whole disaster; I have the blood of saints on my head, and the least I can do is save those still alive." Everyone gathered stared at Hale, each having a varying expression of amazement or impatience upon his face.

Danforth, clearly having had enough of this talk, shoved Hale unceremoniously aside. "You, sir, have no authority here!" he snarled. "I suggest you leave now and return to the hole from which you emerged!" Hale's eyes narrowed at this comment but he didn't rise to the bait.

"Yes," agreed Putnam arrogantly, "the only authority _you_ have is with those damned books of yours. Aren't you an expert on witchcraft? Tell me, sir; how is an expert to be if he denies his own learning?" Reverend Hale's icy glance slowly fell upon Putnam's face, causing the other man to fidget slightly beneath its scrutiny.

"Ah, I suppose you mean these books, then?" he asked softly, abruptly dropping the armful of books he had been carrying onto the ground. He spit on them without removing Putnam from his sight. "I denounce my books, Mister; and I'll burn them as well!"

This announcement was followed by silence, in which every eye concentrated on the enraged man before them. Finally Parris cleared his throat awkwardly and made an attempt to smile at Hale. "I'm afraid there is nothing you can do here, sir. These people will hang, as it be God's will that—"

"God's will, do you say?" Hale interrupted with a shout that caused Parris to flinch. "Where in the Good Book does it reveal God's will to murder his own saints? Answer me, Mister! I say that if anyone be hanging this morning, it will be _you!_" Without waiting for Parris to finish his protest, Hale turned his steely gaze upon Herrick and Cheever. "I demand you release these people; they are innocent!"

Cheever and Herrick glanced at one another, then at Danforth and back to Hale. When they moved to obey the minister, Danforth cursed them. "What are you fools doing? He have no authority here; he is in contempt of the court! Stop him at once!" he swore vehemently.

Hale strode purposefully forward at this remark and halted inches from Danforth's face. "If you truly wish to stop me, _sir_, then you must kill me. Now, I say stand aside and let them free!" he snapped. Danforth stood defiantly in the reverend's path for a moment, inner turmoil wrenching his mind asunder.

"Very well, Mr. Hale," he said with a deadly quiet, "they shall be released. But I warn you, sir, this is far from over!" That said he smashed his hat on his head and strode moodily into the courthouse, followed immediately by Cheever, Herrick, Putnam and Parris. Before he followed, Parris glanced hesitantly back at Hale and the newly freed prisoners.

"Mr. Hale..." he began weakly, then sprinted away as the door slammed shut behind his companions and the other's glower left him alone to face it. With the five men absent, Hale turned a weary head to the Proctors, Rebecca Nurse and Martha Corey.

"Thank you, sir," Martha said quietly, still gazing at the courthouse, where shouts could now be heard. Hale smiled faintly and removed his hat.

"It is the least I could do, Goody Corey," he replied. "It is regretful that I didn't come to my senses in time to..." With a glance at the woman, he allowed his thought to trail off into the chill morning air.

Proctor, after sharing an emotional kiss with his wife, turned to Hale and Martha quizzically. "What is it that you weren't able to do?" he asked, his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders.

Hale quickly glanced at Martha but refused to meet her gaze as he explained. "It...it is your husband, Goody Corey," he stammered. "I...he, he is dead. I am sorry; I did not arrive in time." His eyes filled with tears, mourning the loss of a good man to corruption.

Martha accepted the news of her husband's death with calm weeping. "He were a good man, Giles," she said through her grief. "They press him 'til he say aye or nay, but he said only 'more weight!' God bless him."

"Aye," Hale agreed almost inaudibly, and the gathering lapsed into respectful silence for the dead.

----

Walking the streets of Salem in shadow did not seem to disturb anyone, as all joyously welcomed the return of the prisoners with laughing and praising God. Hale watched with satisfaction as Rebecca Nurse was reunited with her husband Francis; to see the elderly couple run across the streets and meet in a passionate hug could elicit no words to describe it. Even more blissful was the Proctors' reunion with their three boys, who called out "Father! Mother!" as they sprinted from a small house to tackle their parents in a tight embrace.

Everywhere people were talking ecstatically; women weeping for pure bliss at the return of their loved ones lined the streets. A few people stopped long enough in their celebration to thank Hale, but each time he denied heroism and politely replied that is was the least he could do.

"Mr. Hale!" called Francis Nurse from a crowed of excited people. "Won't you come have a drink with us? 'Tis a day of celebratin'!"

Hale smiled at the elderly man and gladly accepted. "Thank you, Francis. I—"

"Mr. Hale!" Suddenly the merriment in the streets died to a whisper, and even then one almost inaudible as Cheever appeared at the foot of the road. Suspicious eyes followed the man's every step as he came to a halt in front of Reverend Hale.

Swallowing his resentment, Hale politely said, "Good morning, Mr. Cheever. Is there something I can do for you?" Before replying, the other glanced around at the hostile stares of the villagers, shredding his soul with clawing daggers.

"Mr. Danforth sends a message to you, sir," Cheever replied belatedly. Hale's eyes narrowed but he was not given a chance to speak as the other continued. "He wishes to speak with you, sir; and right away, if I might add."

Hale regarded Cheever warily before he gave his reply. "And what exactly does his Excellency propose to discuss?" Cheever shook his head.

"I have no knowledge of it, sir; I were not informed of the topic, just the message." Hale considered the options before him, and then gave the messenger a polite but decidedly frigid smile.

"You may tell his Excellency that I have no wish to bend to his commands; I am no dog that I should run to him at his every whim. If he wishes to speak with me, he may come to me, sir. If you will excuse me." With that said Hale sharply turned away from Cheever and joined Francis and the other men at the tavern door, never glancing back at the stunned Cheever. The latter remained rooted to the ground, seemingly unable to decide which course of action to take. Presently he set his hat firmly atop his head and turned heel down the road in a dark mood.

----

Elizabeth Proctor removed the dishes from the table as Hale and her husband talked over tankards of ale. Her sons hardly left her side; their mother had been a long time missing, and still they couldn't quite believe she was back. "Is it true, Mother, that you are pregnant?" asked her eldest as he helped her with the dishes.

She smiled and gave his hair an affectionate tousle. "Aye, it is," she replied with a happiness she hadn't known for many months. "You have another brother or a new sister on the way."

Her youngest wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of a sister. "I hope it's a brother! Then I won't be the youngest anymore!" he announced with conviction, drawing a laugh from Elizabeth.

"You'll love the child no matter what," she told him gently, kissing his forehead tenderly. "Just as I and your brothers and father will."

Proctor glanced over at his wife then and gave her a smile. "Indeed, Elizabeth," he said in agreement. "Any child is a miracle from God."

Instantly the youngest boy ran to him and climbed onto his lap, nearly upsetting the tankard of ale. "Father, do you really want a girl?" he asked incredulously, causing the adults gathered to share a smile with one another.

"Oh, I don't think a sister would be _that_ terrible," Proctor said while stroking his chin in mock thoughtfulness. His son frowned at that thought, but soon put his arms around his father.

"You're right; but I still hope he's a boy!" he said once again. Proctor laughed and stroked the boy's blonde hair back from his face.

"Well, even before your sibling is born, you still need to be baptized," he said with a more serious tone. At these words the boy looked into his father's face, his eyes shining.

"You mean like you, Mother and my brothers? Really, Father?" he asked excitedly, hope dancing in his brown eyes.

Proctor smiled at the boy's enthusiasm and glanced at Reverend Hale over the child's head. "I'll not have Parris baptize you; perhaps Mr. Hale...?" He allowed the thought to trail into the warm atmosphere of the house and gazed questioningly at the reverend.

Hale blinked in surprise; this was something he had surely not expected. To have gained Proctor's trust since their initial, fiery meeting was certainly something at which to wonder; but Proctor asking him to baptize his youngest child? "It will be an honor, sir," he replied after a few moments of incredulous thought. The boy leapt from his father's lap and danced to his mother excitedly, causing both his parents to laugh at his great pleasure at the prospect of baptism.

Suddenly their reverie was interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. All eyes turned to it apprehensively as Elizabeth, in unspoken agreement, rose and unlatched the door and opened it. "Good morning, Goody Proctor," came Cheever's voice from the near-dawn morning.

"Cheever?" mouthed Proctor in enraged surprise as Elizabeth allowed the visitor into the house. After lighting on the boys for a few seconds, Cheever's scrutinizing glance fell upon Hale, who returned it with one of his own.

"Mr. Hale, sir?" asked Cheever then, after clearing his throat. Hale merely nodded and gestured for him to continue. "Mr. Danforth sends his message again, sir, that he wishes to speak with you immediately." He toyed with his hat nervously as Hale failed to respond instantly.

For a few minutes Hale allowed himself to explore all possible reasons why Danforth would summon him to his presence, but could not fathom one with malignant motive behind it. "Sir?" inquired Cheever again, and Hale nodded and rose from his place at the Proctor table.

"Tell him I will come," he said quietly to Cheever, who appeared quite relieved as he hurried from the house to mount his horse. Hale slowly retrieved his jacket and hat from the peg, folding the former over his arm.

"Thank you, Goody Proctor, for the excellent meal," he said politely to Elizabeth, who smiled in return.

Proctor glanced at the reverend curiously as Hale prepared to depart. "Earlier this morning, in Salem, you refused a meeting with Danforth. Why do you accept now?" he inquired.

Hale sighed and shrugged slightly. "If I refuse again, he will only keep demanding a meeting 'til I agree to it. Now is as good a time as any to accept and put it behind me," he replied, smiling slightly as he finished.

Proctor joined in with a grin of his own. "Always put nasty ordeals behind you as first priority, eh?" He laughed the first true laugh then in months.

"Aye, Mr. Proctor!" replied Hale, joining the other man in cheerfulness. With a respectful nod to Elizabeth and the boys, he stepped out into the chill Salem morning, wrapping his jacket about his lithe frame and placing the black hat upon his head.

Cheever was nowhere to be seen, but hoof prints were barely discernable in the dust. Hale gave his brown mare a pat before mounting and riding off into town.

The streets of Salem held no remembrance that once a great celebration had happened among them. Everything was dark; every house, every building. Not even a dog so much as sniffed about in the lightening sky. Hale's mount made the only noise as it trotted down the dirt roads, and its clomping seemed unnecessarily loud and obnoxious. Deep inside Hale wondered if he had not made another mistake in agreeing to the meeting, but pushed the thought away as he neared the courthouse.

The faint light of a candle shone in a window, and Rev. Hale could see Danforth and Parris speaking with Putnam and Herrick animatedly. The minister dismounted and tied the horse's reins to a nearby post, hesitating to enter. Nervousness chewed at his mind incessantly; and so preoccupied by it was he that Hale failed to notice Cheever had not yet arrived, though he should have turned up first.

"This better be important," Hale muttered under his breath as he wrapped his jacket around him and took the steps to the courthouse. He reached out a hand to try the door and found it unlatched, so with a final glance at the morning he stepped inside. Men's voices emanated from a room to his right, and under the closed door he could see the flickering candlelight.

He was about to move to open the door when the conversation inside took a dramatic change in course. "But Excellency, we must do _something_ to cover it up!" Parris's voice whined loudly. Intrigued, Hale ceased his reach for the latch and stood outside, listening curiously.

There came a sigh, and Danforth spoke. "Mr. Parris, I know very well what needs doing here! Aye, Abigail and Mercy Lewis have disappeared with your £31. Aye, they obeyed us well in naming those we wanted to see accused. But let them be gone, sir! They have served their purpose." Hale's eyes widened at this proclamation. So it had been these men who started the witch riots from the beginning?

"But Excellency, my reputation is at stake! Do you understand? What will they say of me if they discover my niece have run away and robbed me blind?!" Parris exclaimed a moment before Danforth had finished speaking.

"By God, Samuel, calm down!" Putnam said sharply. "There are more important things at stake here than your reputation!" Parris sniffled hurtfully but did not respond. Hale leaned closer to the door as he dared without risking discovery and awaited Putnam's answer. "The villagers suspect something is awry. They aren't thrilled with the hangings; they want no more of it. They challenge the validity of the court sir, the court itself! That alone is reason enough to keep this going!"

"But—"

"No 'buts,' sir! I have private property where we can—" Suddenly, Putnam stopped speaking and the room became silent. Fleetingly Hale wondered exactly what had happened to shut the man up, but his mind instead raced to the information he had just learned. They had been the force behind the 'bewitched' girls all along! The twelve that died...they were innocent of anything but having wronged those five in some 'grievous' way.

He bit his lip nervously, wondering frantically what he should do. Confront them, or leave and let the town know? Rage suddenly filled him for the deaths of the innocent, and he decided the villagers must know the truth.

_They will know that you are the real witches here! _he thought, _and shall be the next condemned_! With a final glare of pure rancor at the room, Hale prepared to leave; but abruptly a hand touched his shoulder and ice flowed in his veins.

"Good morning, Mr. Hale," said Ezekiel Cheever's voice from behind him, sounding quite smug. "You have not yet spoken with his Excellency." It was a statement, not a question. "I think he is eager to see you, sir. Won't you...?" he trailed off, motioning to the door.

Hale swallowed harshly, but wanted not to allow Cheever to see him weak. He reached out a steady hand and, more calmly than he felt, opened the door and stepped inside. "Welcome, Mr. Hale," said Danforth smoothly as Cheever closed the door with a resounding bang. "So good to see you again, sir. A pleasure it is."

Before responding, Hale attempted to swipe Cheever's hand from his shoulder, but to no avail; he was held fast. He settled for a distinctly enraged glare for Danforth as he spoke. "Danforth. It's certainly no pleasure to see you!" This comment narrowed the deputy governor's eyes considerably and earned alarmed glances from Herrick and Parris. Hale continued, taking no notice of anyone but Danforth. "I heard everything you said, _your Excellency_," he added with biting sarcasm. "Your own words condemn you to hang, sir; your hands are stained with the blood of saints!"

Rage crossed Danforth's face in a violent storm, and he rose from his chair, striking Hale forcefully across the face. As everyone gazed at him, stunned, he said, "You, sir, have no right to speak to me in that manner! I should see you _dead_ for such contempt!"

Hale gasped in pain and surprise from the attack, but despite this he immediately retorted: "Go ahead, and see where it gets you! Hopefully on the end of a rope!"

Naturally this comment received another strike, but Hale did not allow them to see how it affected him. Inside his mind was a screaming distortion of fear and anger, though his face showed none of it. "It will be my pleasure to see you dead!" hissed Danforth, inches from Hale as he spoke.

Parris, who had been rubbing his arms nervously during the entire scene, suddenly interrupted. "Ah, Excellency; a word?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Danforth glared at him, causing the corrupted man to shrink back in fright.

"What, Samuel, is so important?" the deputy governor asked with deadly calm. Parris wet his lips, then after a glance at Putnam and Herrick, he continued.

"Your Excellency, sir, please listen to me! I'll have no more killing in Salem, especially not outright murder! There be enough blood shed in Salem to drown a thousand men!" he whispered tremulously.

Herrick nodded after the initial shock of Parris's statement had dissolved somewhat. "Aye, Excellency. I've enough blood on my head without adding his," he stated, gesturing at Rev. Hale. Danforth neatly folded his arms at this and coolly regarded Herrick and Parris.

"Then what do you suggest we do with him, gentlemen?" he inquired icily. "He knows things he shouldn't, and will kindle revolt in the town should he inform the people." Danforth looked from Parris's face, which was drawn with nervousness, to Herrick's, which displayed a degree of shame.

It was then that Putnam stepped forward to stand beside Danforth. "Sir, I have a suggestion."

"Then let's hear it, Thomas!" snapped the other when Putnam failed to continue.

"A—aye, Excellency!" Putnam choked, gulping as he did so. "You know of my private property, sir. Well, we could bring him there and...well, keep him from the village."

Hale snorted at this, amused at Putnam's 'creativity' and way of referring to him as though he weren't present. Danforth, however, seemed to seriously contemplate the suggestion Putnam made, and the minister realized then that he had fallen into grave trouble.

"Aye, Thomas," Danforth said then, sealing Hale's fate with his agreement. "An excellent idea. We leave now, under the cover of what darkness is left. Mr. Parris, fetch your coach; we travel to Mr. Putnam's private estate this morning." Parris immediately obeyed Danforth's orders and was back in five minutes, driving the horses pulling the black coach. He reported that the streets were yet deserted, so Cheever bound Hale's wrists behind his back, blindfolded him, and led him to the coach at Danforth's command.

"Quickly, Samuel; we haven't much time before dawn. I'll guide you along the way," Hale heard Putnam say as the latter seated himself beside Parris. With a sharp snap of the reins the horses began to move forward along the dirt road, the coach's occupants silent. Bound and blind, Hale could only wonder where his captors were taking him; he longed to fight and be free, but was utterly powerless to do so. He could only sit back and listen to the wheels take him from Salem to a new prison.


End file.
